A Tryst with Death
by Wrinix
Summary: Gellert Grindelwald is the Headmaster. Tom Riddle is the DADA professor. People all over Britain fear to utter the name of Albus Dumbledore. In the midst of all this lies Harry, coping with the affections of girls, leading the marauders, and trying not to kill everyone out of annoyance. Time travel is maddening but Dimension travel is more than what even he can handle. MoD!Harry
1. Welcome to my Life

**Disclaimer: Questions are asked by those who think, Answers are found by those who seek, and Opinions are formed by those can do neither.**

 **I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

Questioning the nuances of conscious and existence while lounging in their office chairs was a common theme among the researchers at the Department of Mysteries. Harry Potter thought himself above such musings.

He lost interest in any metaphysical concepts when three objects of suspicious lineage landed in his lap and promptly declared him their master. He should have known that his tryst with fate wouldn't end with his education. Or was it tryst with death? He didn't know which entity he hated more.

So he thought about Perenelle's delicious chocolate chip cookies, the atrocious weather in London at the moment, the odd feeling that someone was tapping his shoulder…

He opened his eyes with reluctance and subtly tried to close them to pretend he was asleep when he noticed the visitor. But the people in the department were far too observant for their own good.

"I know you're awake, Mr. Potter," a female voice said in the trademarked monotone of the researchers. It grated on his ears like the rattling of tracks when a train moved.

"I can't convince you otherwise?" Harry gave a charming smile and lost it when he evoked no reaction from her. Tough crowd. Either Sirius was fibbing about how the dog animagus's roguish smile bagged him a dozen witches at school or Harry was truly hopeless at this flirting thing.

"The head has requested your presence," she intoned as she turned on her heels and glanced back, looking for all intents like she expected him to follow. He had half a mind to go back to sleep if only to annoy the woman.

"What does that fossil want now?" He stretched and ruffled his hair to make it seem like he wasn't dozing off in office hours – It was a lost cause.

She gave him a sharp glance out of the corner of her eyes at his blatant disrespect, which he ignored with an ease that only came with practice. "I assume he wants to discuss your latest report on the Veil."

Harry cursed and braced himself for an hour of ear-splitting, self-incriminating tirade. His last month was less productive than his defense class in the fifth year and that was saying something. "How bad is it?"

She thought for a moment and Harry's hopes for a peaceful afternoon took a nosedive. The silence was the harbinger of bad omens and unpleasant headaches. "He canceled all appointments for the next two hours."

Harry hung his head like a prisoner on his way to the execution grounds, devoid of all happiness and radiating despair. The woman walking beside him disregarded his antics like a professional should but Harry could sense an underlying hint of amusement. "If I survive this, shall we go out for coffee? Like a celebration of life, my treat."

She stared at him like he was an alien creature to experiment on. "You are a peculiar one, Mr. Potter."

Apparently, the subtleties of modern relationship were lost on this woman. Not that he could blame her. Most of the people in the department resemble over-productive drones than living, breathing humans after they delve too deep into their research. He was an oddity in that regard; which he'd always been no matter where he went. "I don't hear a 'no'."

But his destination arrived before she could respond and Harry gave a jaunty wave to mask his anxiety as he slipped into the office of the Head of the Department, leaving the woman to stare after him like he was a particularly interesting specimen.

* * *

There were but a few things that could terrify the Master of Death. Most of them were either dealt with or dead.

To Harry's ever going consternation, Nicholas Flamel could neither be dealt with nor killed. He knew because he tried a few times and failed hilariously, according to the aforementioned Flamel. These days it became a hobby of sorts for him to come up with ingenious ways to off the immortal alchemist. He wouldn't stoop so low as to use an unforgivable but he was close. Whoever said that wielder of the Elder wand could bring upon the death of any opponent never encountered an immortal who was also the head of a department that dabbled in archaic magic.

"Do try to put some effort into your work after you're done moping," Nicholas remarked with an abundance of sarcasm as he read the project report submitted by Harry a few hours ago. "The last time I read a report so disappointing was after you and your merry band of friends infiltrated my department and wrecked half the equipment."

Harry would've released a long-suffering sigh if he didn't know that it would only further the tongue-lashing. "After the first few weeks of success, the veil stopped giving any reaction to our attempts. It would've been suspicious if it wasn't always like that."

Nicholas hummed in thought, as though he was about to impart profound wisdom. "It's probably tired of your excuses as I am."

Harry closed his eyes and bore the insults with the guise of man long immune to them. In his mind, he was already planning his next murder attempt on the fossil who should by all rights be dead by now but still wasn't. "We are doing our best, _sir._ "

Nicholas waved it off like he hadn't heard it and continued to give his remarks. "If you're not done with this project by this month, I will personally see your transfer to a different project. We've wasted enough time and money on this as it is."

Harry tried to protest but a stern glance from the man cut him off. He knew he was the only one in the department who had any hope of achieving results from the research on the veil. Greater scholars than him have tried and failed. He had begged the head for years before he was allowed to experiment and even then, it was only because the veil had shown a reaction for the first time in centuries. To him. It fluttered like a curtain billowing in the wind and its presence amplified until the few Unspeakables behind collapsed into unconsciousness. The whole death room that housed the ethereal object darkened and shimmered like a pale diamond in the night, with its effects far-reaching through the whole department.

Through it all, Harry stood death-still like a man possessed while the hallows on his person shivered and sang like they had found a long-lost relative. Only when he went to bed that night did he realize what he felt in that room that made him freeze. Yearning.

From that day he spent every living moment examining the veil but other than rare flutters in his presence, the veil was disconcertingly silent. He was once both furious and terrified of the veil - when he was a student at Hogwarts and the veil had taken from him the only man he had ever thought of as family. A decade had passed since and only fascination remained.

He was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of Nicholas placing the report none too gently on the table. "Whatever you had done at the beginning for the Veil to react, you better hope it works again."

With that final statement, Nicholas steepled his fingers and went back to ponder about whatever old men did in their offices. Heeding the unspoken dismissal, Harry rose out of his seat and ambled out of the room with a tired gait, something the woman standing out the door didn't fail to notice. "Unpleasant, I presume?"

"Sometimes I wonder why I don't mutiny," Harry commented without any bite in his tone. "The pay isn't good enough for me to bear the rants of this senile bastard."

She didn't give an answer, not that he was expecting her to. He knew why he loved to work here. His life lost the challenge that was in abundance during his stay at Hogwarts. While he hated the ever-existent threat to his life, he learned after graduation that there were more unpleasant things in the world than a madman out for your life. He was not fit to work in the ministry, ripe with political games, currying favors, and backstabbing. There was not a person who didn't know of him in wizarding Britain but with fame comes both the pleasant things and the things that made him think if these people really were worth saving. His volatile state of mind was one of the reasons why he came to love solitude. The wizarding world was always wary of him becoming the next dark lord and he was not eager to make their fears a reality.

The Department of Mysteries was an answer to all his hopes. A place where people hardly cared about social niceties, filled with unseen mysteries, and where one's worth was determined by their research. Not that he hated companionship. He was an unmarried man in his prime and the body wants what it wants.

He took the turn to his office when the woman beside him halted and faced his opposite side. "I believe the cafeteria is this way."

Judging by the grin on his face, nobody could've known that he was sulking and contemplating mutiny a few moments ago. "Lead the way, my lady."

* * *

As usual, the cafeteria was near deserted with one or two lone souls occupying the corner tables – coffee break was a time that could be spent tinkering with their experiments, so why bother? He sipped his beverage, watching his companion over the rim of his cup. Not much of her face was visible due to the ever-present hood that covered most of her features except the lips and the chin. From what he could discern, she has an angular face, fair skin, and full, red lips. The hood was common among the employees but Harry, as was expected, ignored such customs with extreme prejudice.

Catching his glances, the woman quirked her lips and removed her hood to reveal a blond-haired, blue-eyed witch of his age or younger. She was beautiful by any standards, with her lustrous hair flowing down to her shoulders and eyes that glinted with intelligence. "You can stop staring now, Potter."

Harry blinked and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Ah, sorry. I wasn't expecting you to be so..."

"Young?"

"Beautiful," let it never be said he was hesitant to speak his mind. Some people called it running his mouth off but he begged to differ.

"That's surprising," she said airily but she had a pleased smile on her face. "You never did notice me at school."

Harry chuckled at her joke but frowned in confusion when he noticed that she wasn't amused. "What?"

"I'm Daphne Greengrass. We're in the same year," at the blank look on his face, she elaborated. "I was in Slytherin."

"That makes sense," Harry said triumphantly but waved his hands in apology at her glare. It's no secret that he didn't love socializing and it was apparent from his time at Hogwarts. No one of his fame would have fewer friends than the fingers on his hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you but another blond from your house took too much of my attention."

She nodded, realizing who he was talking about in an instant. The feud between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter was the stuff of legends and was a constant source of entertainment for her. The rumors about their supposed preferences and forbidden love didn't help matters. "You never did stay far from Granger or Weasely."

The names of his best friends brought a plethora of unpleasant feelings but he managed to conceal the frown that crossed his face. Knowing that this conversation was treading into dangerous territories, he shifted the topic. "Let's forget about school. Since when do you work here?"

"I joined a few months ago," she said. Her tone was nonchalant but he could detect a hint of pride under the apathy. "I work with the time chamber and other related things."

" _Oh_ , you must be the cute new recruit everyone was talking about," Harry nodded to himself, pleased with his discovery. He looked up to see her quirking a brow at him with a sharp look in her eyes and only then did he realize that he shot off his mouth again. With a sheepish smile, he ran a hand through his hair. "So, working in the department must be interesting, huh?"

She gave him a glance to convey that he was still not off the hook and spoke, "It is. It's an ambition of mine and it's fortunate that I am working on the field I am most fascinated with. The time chamber is everything I expected and more."

"Think you can steal a time turner for me?" Harry asked jokingly. "I am desperate for one, what with all the deadlines."

"I can but I don't have enough magic to power it, Potter," she replied with a shrug. "All the activated ones are strictly regulated."

"What?"

"You can only use one after you activate the pixie dust in it with magic," she explained at his lost look. "We generally do it with gems that have power stored in them. The larger the time turner, the bigger the threshold and the more power it takes to activate it."

It's as though a light bulb went on in his head. Activate it with magical power. If the Veil acts the same as any other magical object, then even it must have a threshold for its activation. Did anyone ever try to supply it with power? Why did he never think of it?

Unaware of his sudden revelation, Daphne continued. "Enough about me. How is it that you're here? I thought you wanted to be an Auror."

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked up to find her waiting for his answer. He would've given one if he heard her question. "Daphne, you're brilliant!"

She seemed taken aback by his abrupt compliment, with a light dusting of red on her pale cheeks. Usually, she was pretty composed and the plenty of compliments she received on a daily basis made her apathetic to any praises she might receive. But this was Harry Potter and he was not known for a handing out compliments freely. The abruptness of the said compliment only furthered her blush. "If this is your attempt at flattering me..."

"No, no, no," he laughed heartily. She looked so different from her Slytherin persona with that cute blush that he couldn't help but stare at her in fascination. "I can do better than that. But what were you asking?"

She gave him a scrutinizing look before talking again. "You wanted to be an Auror, right? How come you became a researcher?"

Harry shifted in his chair into a comfortable position, knowing that this tale was a long one. "It all started when I heard that this fossil, I mean, Nicholas is still alive. Very surprising, I know. I had to apologize to him for something I did in my first year, don't ask what..."

Considering how enraptured she was the whole time, he really did spin a wonderful tale. It's a shame that most of it was a lie. He should have listened to the hat when it said that he'd prosper in Slytherin.

* * *

"You're late," was the first thing he heard when he entered the mansion.

The woman waiting for him could be considered an unnatural beauty, with her flawless skin, voluptuous, hourglass figure and eyes that shone like diamonds. Her hair and eye color changed with how you viewed her and currently, she was a redheaded, blue-eyed woman to him. It's a crime that she was married to the one man he hated the most.

"Sorry, Penny," Harry mumbled in exhaustion as he collapsed into a chair at the dining table. He and Daphne had talked long into the evening and then being the gentleman he was, he offered to take her to dinner. He didn't know who was more surprised when she said yes. "I was out..."

"On a date?" she asked in reflex. It was a long-standing hope of hers to see him settle with a family and provide her with some grandkids. As was the case with powerful artifacts, the constant intake of the elixir of life came with a price. She could never give birth to a child and even after centuries, she was pained by that fact.

For the first time, Harry answered with an affirmative. "Kind of?"

Her eyes lit up with excitement and she didn't rest until she harangued every detail from him. After the recounting of his day, she sat beside him and hummed in contemplation. "Daphne Greengrass, huh? I conversed with her a few times, I think. Quite the beauty, with a sharp wit. You couldn't have hoped for a better woman. You asked for a second date, right?"

"No?" Harry admitted and cringed under her disapproving look. "But I'm sure she wouldn't say no if I asked. I'll be on that."

"Good," she huffed, with her arm crossed. She was too used to getting what she wants, Harry thought with a sigh. "But that doesn't explain why you're so tired."

"Ah," Harry leaned back into the chair with a sigh. "The fossil was on my case today."

"Does it hurt you show him some respect?" she asked without rancor.

"Does it hurt him to not be a pain in the ass?" he countered.

"Why, in fact, it does," a voice came from the doorway and in an instant, Harry threw the plate in front of him at the man. But the man transfigured it mid-air into a rose and gave it to Perenelle with a smile. "For you, my dear."

Perenelle accepted the flower with an amused smile, used to the antics of the two men in her life. Harry stabbed his fork into the vegetables and fumed in silence. He was all but adopted into the Flamel family and the only thing stopping him from committing patricide was the loving presence of Perenelle. The fossil was lucky he married such a woman.

The dinner went on with the usual fanfare and arguments between him and Nicholas, while Perenelle played the role of the peacemaker with all the patience of an immortal. It was mid-way that his thoughts went back to the Veil and the recent revelation that made his day. "I want power."

"Don't bother," Nicholas replied without a moment of thought. "You're going to become the worst dark lord in history and be an even bigger embarrassment than you already are to me."

"Do whatever you want but I'll be very cross with you if you forget about that Daphne girl," Perenelle added her two cents. Her concern for morals and human life was awe-inspiring.

Harry rolled his eyes and made a valiant effort to stab himself with a fork and die. "You two make the worst role-models for any kid."

Perenelle sniffed and not-so-subtly glared at him. Harry made a note to himself to check the food for poisons the next time. "I have an idea that might work and give a breakthrough with the veil. But I don't know how much power I need for it. Definitely more power than what I have by my estimates."

All traces of amusement vanished from Nicholas's face and a moment later, Harry was looking at the Head of the Department. "How sure are you about this?"

"Best shot I have at this," Harry replied honestly and Nicholas hummed in thought. He didn't know if the Flamels could aid him with this but they're surely the best people to consult on the matter.

Perenelle, who was listening from the sidelines, voiced her thoughts. "How about the elixir of life? A vial of it will provide enough energy to create miracles."

Nicholas was considered the greatest alchemist in history not just for this brains but also his resources. Alchemy was an energy-intensive field and most alchemists lack the power to make any successful leaps in their research. But with the discovery of the Sorcerer's stone, Nicholas got himself a power source so vast that it lasted centuries since its discovery.

Nicholas met his wife's gaze and silent conversation passed between their eyes. At Nicholas's nod, she rose from her seat to vanish down the stairs, while Harry looked at the both of them in confusion. His doubts were answered a moment later when Perenelle returned with a vial of glowing red liquid and its presence itself was enough to make his hairs stand in primal caution.

"Th-that's..." Harry stammered as Perenelle handed him the vial with a smirk on her face.

"Elixir of life," Nicholas answered, mirroring the smirk on his wife's face. "Did you really think we'd hand over the sorcerer's stone to Albus for protection? He might be the greatest wizard of the century but I have centuries of experience to back up my power. If I so wanted to protect the stone, I'd keep it to myself."

"Then the one in Gringotts..." Harry chuckled in disbelief as everything fell into place. Why would Dumbledore place protections so simple that three first-year students could best them? Why would Nicholas keep the stone in Gringotts despite knowing about the goblins' greed for gold? How is it Nicholas and Perenelle were still alive despite the destruction of the stone? "It was a fake from the start."

"The whole thing was a ruse to capture Voldemort," Nicholas answered the unasked question.

"Then my apology for destroying the stone and almost killing you?" Harry glowered at the smug old man sitting in front of him.

"You apologizing on your knees was very funny."

The veil be damned, Harry had half a mind to drink the elixir and use the power to off the old coot. Noticing his raging fury, Perenelle smacked Nicholas on the head to wipe the smug grin. "Must you antagonize him?"

"Don't tell me you don't find his temper tantrums hilarious?" Nicholas talked like he couldn't even comprehend what Perenelle was asking of him. "That time he set a nundu loose in my office was the best one."

Only Nicholas could find the attempts on his life to be funny.

Harry huffed as he rose from his seat and pocketed the veil. His apparent anger at the alchemist did give him a valid escape. "I'm going to take a walk."

Perenelle gave a nod and Harry heard a steely voice berating Nicholas as he walked away. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight for this."

"What did I do?"

"He didn't even eat dinner!"

"He probably ate on his date with my cute assistant."

"Doesn't matter. He's a growing boy, and what do you mean ' _cute?'_ Is there any _other_ reason you took her as your assistant?"

"O-of course not!"

* * *

The moment he stepped outside the mansion, Harry apparated directly to the department of mysteries. The one person he found there gave him a nod and left him to his own devices without much fuss; There were advantages to having anti-social colleagues. The narrow corridors and dark tiles seemed ominous as he trudged down the halls to the death chamber. There was an anticipation in the air that he couldn't place, as though the veil knew what he was there for and was as eager as he was. That thought didn't comfort him.

The ring on his finger pulsed with agitation as he entered the chamber, giving a pearly glimmer that betrayed its true heritage. The stone of resurrection looked as innocuous as it was deadly. Beneath his clothes, his ever-present companion, the cloak of invisibility slithered over his skin like an affectionate snake and he didn't need a seer to guess that his elder wand would appear in his pocket again without his permission. Again.

He had theories – none of them concrete – as to why the hallows made their presence known to the veil every time he entered the chamber. The creations of death might be acknowledging another of their kind for all he knew but the connection between his hallows and the veil was clear as day to him. _His hallows?_ He didn't know when he started considering them as his and not as harbingers of death they were. The fact that all of these revelations started bombarding his mind _now_ was not helping.

With every step in its direction, the veil's anticipation grew like a rising tide and he could feel it caressing his frame when he finally stood in front of it. Harry fingered the vial of elixir resting in his pocket and with one last glance at the ethereal door, he gulped the contents of the vial.

It tasted suspiciously like blood and he was certain he heard somewhere that brewing the elixir of life takes blood magic. He didn't know they meant it so literally. The liquid slipped down his throat, scalding everything in its way and Harry felt its complete effects when it entered the bloodstream. His veins popped out of his skin, looking a garish red instead of the usual green and his nerves felt like they were melting. Every single part of his body burned like he was stuck in a torrent of fiendfyre cast by Voldemort with the elder wand. His tissues and organs tore and healed themselves within a fraction of seconds, revitalizing his body or to be precise, building it anew. All throughout the process, he was frozen still, feeling like he could destroy cities while not being able to lift a finger.

His magical aura bubbled like a volcano, glowing like the sun with a deep emerald hue. In response, the veil fluttered like an ebullient child and its soft caress turned into a smothering hug. His heart thudded in his chest, warning him of something he couldn't comprehend and with typical Gryffindor bullheadedness, he disregarded it. The elder wand appeared in his hand with a thought and Harry pointed its tip at the veil.

He had never cast pure magic of such intensity before but he could remember Voldemort breaking the gigantic wards around Hogwarts with sheer power alone. Gathering his magic, he pushed it into the elder wand and its excited shivers rang like a death knell in his ears.

The veil obstructed the wave of magic like a wall and sucked it all in greedily. Its presence skyrocketed and he sent a silent apology to any other occupants of the department – he doubted any of them were conscious. The connection formed between the elder wand and the veil reminded him of the Priori Incantatem and his first sign that something was wrong was when the veil started forcefully siphoning him into its door.

He panicked and tried to sever the connection but for the first time in his life, he lost a battle of wills. The veil in its activated form reminded him of the portals shown in those muggle movies and that spelled no good for him. He retrieved his original holly wand from his holster and tried to interfere with the connection but his invisibility cloak chose that moment to come to life and drag him bodily to the veil.

Only when he was halfway through the veil did the epiphany about the actual function of the veil hit him. It was a goddamn portal, an inter-dimensional link, but not for the humans. The researchers didn't know how close they hit to home when they named it, 'The Gateway To Death.'

The apt name would've been, 'The Gateway _F_ _or_ Death.'

The futility of his struggle registered in his mind a moment later when the part of the body that was stuck in the veil started to dissipate into finer particles and flowed further down the portal. The entire process was as painless as breathing and that did not bode well for him. He was no crusader for painful deaths but when things get this comfortable, the aftermath would be just as chaotic.

Perenelle was going to go apoplectic with rage when she learns of his disappearance. He thanked the gods that he wouldn't be there to witness that but he was sure that he'd face her wrath one way or the other. He didn't delude himself into believing that him being dead or in some alternate world would stop Perenelle Flamel.

At least, he was finally going to have that well-earned vacation.

* * *

His body reformed outside the portal to the sound of blaring alarms. He perceived panicked footsteps around him and immediately his hand flew to his wand holster, only to find it missing. Apparently, he was too hopeful to think that his wand would survive the journey. Or even clothes.

He flushed in embarrassment at the thought of a group of strangers seeing him stark naked and tried to find a good rock to hide behind – Growing up didn't desensitize him to nudity. He's a researcher, not a prison inmate. He was in a gray, circular room with an unevenly shaped black rock for a floor and a stark white marble for a ceiling. The whole room was empty, save for a single, ethereal...door standing in the middle of the room. His heart stopped for a moment and then kick-started again. He was in the Death Chamber! But he could swear that he was sucked into the portal, after the betrayal of the hallows. To think he was manhandled by a rock, a cloth and a piece of wood.

The unspeakables barged into the room with their wands in hands, prepared for an attack. Their surprise of only finding a naked boy lasted only a second before they started firing stunners at the boy.

The stunners, albeit non-lethal, were the last thing he expected from his colleagues and he rolled onto the floor at the last second to escape the plethora of spells. "What the hell, guys! Stop!"

But the unspeakables did not relent and Harry had to use his well-developed dueling instincts to the maximum to evade the spells unscathed. The whole chamber glowed an ominous red due to the stunners, with the occasional blue of Petrificus Totalus mixed in. He started making wandless shields and firing stunners of his own when he realized that he can't dodge all the spells but his wandless magic only served to further incite the unspeakables. Why the heck were they attacking him, anyway? Didn't they recognize him?

One of the stunners came too close to comfort and Harry tried to leap from one rock outcropping to other but it seemed that he had vastly overestimated his height. Only when he fell comically into the groove between the two outcroppings did he look down at his body and realized just how _tiny_ he looked. He could easily pass for a nine or ten-year-old kid.

The unspeakables didn't waste this opportunity and he slipped into blissful unconsciousness when a lone stunner finally struck his chest.

* * *

Harry found himself staring at a high, dome-shaped ceiling when he opened his eyes. He was strapped to a mildly comfortable slab of stone that resembled an examination table more than a bed. A petrificus totalus would have done the job but apparently, he was deemed important or dangerous enough to warrant the straps that tied him to the bed.

"Ah, I see you're awake."

Harry thought he'd never be happy to hear Nicholas's voice. He was wrong. Between the betrayal of his hallows, getting sucked into a suspicious veil, attacked by his comrades and tied to a stone, he was _elated_ to hear the grating voice of the head of the department.

"Nick! Thank god you're here, you old coot," his happiness at seeing Nicholas didn't hamper him from insulting the man. "Did all your employees go bonkers or something? Why did they attack me?"

"Because you're the first person in history to step out of the veil?" was Nicholas's snarky remark. The old man seemed to have other concerns in his mind, everything pertaining to the boy tied to the bed. "That aside, how do you know who I am, kid?"

"Did your age finally catch up with you?" Harry frowned in worry. "I live with you for Merlin's sake!"

Then Harry remembered that he had somehow shrunk down to his ten-year persona but that's no excuse to not recognize him. The green eyes and messy black hair should have been a dead giveaway. But to humor the old man, he went and said it, "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Potter?" Nicholas took a sharp intake of breath and his gaze sharpened to the point that Harry squirmed in apprehension. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am sure," Harry said in an affronted tone. Did he look stupid enough to confuse over his own name? But there was a nagging suspicion in Harry's head that he kept ignoring til now and he dared to say, "Why are you asking?"

To Harry's consternation, Nicholas remained silent for a few moments, the alchemist looking like he was arguing with himself whether to tell Harry the truth or not.

"The entire Potter family was murdered by the dark lord Dumbledore over thirty years ago," Nicholas's next words went unheard by Harry as his whole world crashed down, not because of the death of the family members he didn't even know of but the revelation that followed it. "There were _no_ survivors."

Dark Lord Dumbledore? What the freaking hell? He always knew that the kind, grandfather persona of the headmaster was utter bull but he wouldn't go so far as to call him a dark lord. Dumbledore did have his manipulating, megalomaniac moments – Harry's life was the living proof of those manipulations – but his intentions were always in the right place, how twisted they might be. It's impossible to believe that the twinkly-eyed headmaster would murder a whole family.

"Kid. Hey, kid! Are you alright?" Nicholas touched Harry's shoulders in concern, shaking the green-eyed boy out of his reverie.

Harry took a deep breath to calm his nerves and prepared himself to face the truth. "W-what year is this?"

Nicholas frowned at the unusual question but the tremor in the boy's voice betrayed the importance of the answer. "1970. Why?"

'Well, shit.'

Despite his willingness to accept the facts, Harry blanked out the moment he heard the answer. Nicholas tried to prod him for answers but Harry remained insensate, giving annoying, flippant answers that made Nicholas glad to have no kids of his own.

Comprehending that whatever was troubling the boy would take time to come to terms with, Nicholas left to gather more facts about the situation, leaving the boy to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling.

Harry took full advantage of the hour he was provided to properly freak out. And he did. He was hysterical for a few moments, laughing like a madman stuck in Azkaban. Then he tried to shed a few tears before giving up on that endeavor. He was always bad at crying. He remembered Sirius telling him that he was a happy baby who cried once in a full moon, that too only when his parents tried to confiscate his toy broom or his dad was being stupid with him again.

Thinking of Sirius made him realize that he might meet with the younger, stupider version of the godfather he knew and Harry laughed about that until he remembered about the murder of the Potters. Then he lamented over how he'd never meet his father in his lifetime.

Experiencing such a wide spectrum of emotions made him exhausted and he slept for the last fifteen minutes. Nicholas, being a heartless bastard, woke him up with a rough shake of his shoulder. Harry opened his bleary eyes to stare at his unfamiliar surroundings, before remembering all the drama that his life was.

This time, Perenelle accompanied Nicholas, the woman looking as young as ever due to the elixir of life. Harry's mood brightened with the presence of Nicholas's much better half, who was his mother by all but blood. "Hey, Penny."

Perenelle blinked at the greeting and then smiled indulgently. "Hello, sweetie. What's your name?"

A pang of pain shot through his chest when he realized that this Penny would never know of her surrogate son, Harry Potter. "Harry."

"So, Harry, do you know how you appeared here?" Perenelle talked to him like he was little kid, which by all appearances he was. But that didn't mean he liked it. If it had been Nicholas talking to him like that, Harry would've hexed the old man to kingdom come.

Harry was about to reply when the answer to the mystery of Perenelle's presence here hit him and he glared at Nicholas. That old bastard somehow knew he had a soft spot for Perenelle and capitalized on it. "Using your wife for your dirty work, Nick?"

"This is the easy way to get answers out of you," Nicholas was unrepentant. "We can try the hard way if you want."

"Oh, hush you," Perenelle mock scolded Nicholas with a scowl marring her pretty face. "That's no way to talk to a child."

Nicholas mumbled to himself, something about 'bossy wives' and 'annoying kids' but the other two occupants of the room paid him no mind. Perenelle turned to Harry, with her usual gentle smile on her face. "You can only answer our questions if you're comfortable, Harry."

So, Harry did. He knew he had no other avenues and Perenelle was his best bet at getting out of here. At least, he could decide what to reveal and what not to if he was the one doing the talking. As an unspeakable himself, he knew the researchers would stop at nothing to get the truth out of him.

It took a long time to explain but Nicholas and Perenelle, in their infinite patience, didn't even interrupt him once. They only interjected when something was amiss or to clear the facts, with the occasional gasps of wonder mixed in at the life he lived – It was a pretty adventurous one if he was honest with himself. He left out the hallows out of his story since even he was not sure what the deal with them was. He could still feel his connection with the three harbingers of death but he was not able to summon them as he could before.

There was one part of the story that astounded even Nicholas and Perenelle, something he was not expecting. Perenelle recovered first and fired the question. "We gave you the _elixir of life?!_ "

"Yeah," Harry answered hesitantly, not understanding what the big deal was. It wasn't like they couldn't always brew more of it with the stone. "What's wrong?"

Perenelle shared a glance with Nicholas before speaking. "When we first discovered the Philosophers stone, we knew that it's going to shake the world. People waged wars and even offered all the riches in the world for just a vial of elixir. We knew it shouldn't fall into wrong hands but even we can't be all-knowing. So to make sure that we never fall into the temptation, we made an unbreakable vow to never share it with anyone who's not family. I'm sure even the Nicholas and Perenelle of your world made that vow."

Harry's eyes were as wide as saucers by the time she finished. "B-but I'm not f-family!"

"You can work around the unbreakable vows, Harry," Perenelle answered with a look in her eyes that he couldn't place but it gave him a warm feeling in his chest. "Family doesn't just imply blood relations. You may not consider your own brother family but a person you've known and trusted your whole life can be one. So, to think they gave you the elixir means that you're truly a son to them."

A tear rolled out of the corner of Harry's eye and he tried to wipe it away, only to realize that his hands were tied. Perenelle and Nicholas looked away to give him some privacy. This seemed to be a day of revelations for him. He always felt that Perenelle loved him like a mother but the proof of it filled him with a foreign emotion; The love of mother had always been scarce to him to know what it feels like. To think that Nicholas, despite his uncaring, derisive facade thought of him as family was just as overwhelming.

As usual, Nicholas interrupted the melancholic mood with his unsympathetic remarks. But Harry was certain he could never look at the man the same way after that revelation. "It's all well and good but that doesn't explain how came about into this world."

"Yes I'm coming there," Harry snapped with a glower. "Geez, one would think that with being immortal, Nicholas would've finally developed some patience."

Perenelle giggled, earning a betrayed look from Nicholas. Harry then explained how the veil sucked him in when he tried to activate it, excluding the vital role his hallows played in his abduction.

Nicholas stroked his chin in thought after Harry's explanation, with a thoughtful frown on his face. "So you're telling me that the veil dragged you in and you somehow survived the experience but got turned into a ten-year-old."

"Welcome to my life," Harry said dryly, the blank look on his face telling just how used he was to these kinds of things.

"By all logic, your body shouldn't have reformed just as how your clothes and other things you're carrying didn't," Perenelle commented as she paced the room. "It's like the veil _helped_ you get your body back. But that doesn't make any sense! The veil is non-sentient."

The topic of clothes made him glance down and his stark naked body greeted his sight. He flushed harder than Ginny did when he first met her at the Burrow. "Couldn't you have dressed me before tying me to the bed, Nicholas, you old pedophile? There's a woman here!"

"Oh, he's so cute," Perenelle squealed at the blushing boy. "Nick, can we keep him please?"

"He's not a puppy, Penny," Nicholas answered with a roll of his eyes at his wife's antics. "I don't want to raise this annoying kid."

"Don't be so heartless, Nick!" Perenelle admonished but that was offset by her chuckles at Harry's remark of 'That he is.' "He has nowhere to go."

"I'm sure he has some plans," Nicholas said flippantly, earning a scathing glare from his wife. "Don't you, kid?"

"Yes, let me contact my inter-dimensional trip planner and ask what arrangements he made for me," Harry's words were overflowing with sarcasm.

Perenelle lost herself in giggles at the sight of the ten-year-old boy rebuking her husband. "That's it. He's coming with us."

"Do whatever you want," was Nicholas's passing remark as he walked out of the room.

"Oh, don't mind him, Harry," Perenelle assuaged the boy as she watched Nicholas leave. "He has a cold exterior but he's a big softie at heart."

"He doesn't look like it for sure," Harry sounded disbelieving despite Perenelle's efforts, something the woman didn't fail to notice.

"Don't tell him I told you but he came to me after meeting you and didn't stop laughing about how a kid kept calling him 'old coot,'" Perenelle whispered with a mischievous look in her eyes. "Everybody puts him on a pedestal and your personality is like a breath of fresh air to him."

"He always did seem like a masochist to me," Harry laughed, feeling at peace for the first time since he entered his world as Perenelle's raucous laughter filled the air.

* * *

Far away from London, in the Headmaster's office of one of the most prestigious schools of Europe, Gellert Grindelwald sat in his throne-like chair, watching the quick quill write the Hogwarts letters of the new students coming this year. In these dark times, it always soothed his heart to read the names of all those innocent children who would be under his protection for the next seven years. It was a responsibility he held in the highest regard. The children of now were the future of tomorrow and he'd stop at nothing to ensure their safety.

The monotony was broken when the quick quill wrote a name he wasn't expecting to see in a million years. The name brought back to mind one of the greatest failures of his life. "Harry _Potter_? Now that's a name I haven't heard in a _long_ time."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This will be my chapter length and the updates will be weekly. I will try my best to post every Wednesday but I may miss the deadline.**

 **Reviews are the best appreciation you can give to any story. So if you liked the chapter, don't forget to review!**

 **For any clarifications or advice about the pairings, plot or characters, Review or send me a PM.**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	2. The Forgotten

**Disclaimer: Truth comes more often through Humor than Honesty. I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

Harry feared the day more than night.

The nightmares that plagued his sleep were not real, just a tiring rendition of the experiences of a harrowing day. He would wake up, feeling worse than he did the night before but at least certain that all those dreams were just that; Dreams. In contrast, anything that was broken during the day stayed broken. You couldn't escape it and wake up the next day to find it fresh as new.

So it's no wonder that with the life he lived, he was more terrified of the shadows of the day than the terrors of the night.

But there was something peculiar in the air that evening. The air felt a bit colder, the food tasted a bit bland, and the lights looked a bit dim. Despite these omens, Harry went to sleep that night with no worries on his mind. Then he felt a presence laying on top of him like a silky drape and the chill of the darkness plummeted down to freezing levels.

Any other ten-year-old would've screamed his throat hoarse but Harry was no kid who still hadn't reached his puberty. He held his breath and waited for the presence to do something.

"You're awfully tense, _Master,_ " the voice could only be described as angelic; It was as soft as the wind and tingled like a bell. The voice was accompanied by a dainty hand stroking his chest in what could be construed as a reverent manner. "You have nothing to fear from me."

Harry closed his eyes hoping that if he ignored them, the nightmares would vanish like they always did. But this experience felt _too_ real for it to be a product of his imagination. The hand on his chest moved to his face, stroking his cheeks like a mother would to a child but the touch felt more seductive than loving.

Then the presence disappeared without a trace and Harry released the breath he was holding. He slowly opened his eyes to stare into two dark pits of endless depths and his heart stopped for a moment. He couldn't shift his eyes away from those smothering coals filled with a longing so intense that he was left gasping. It couldn't be mortal.

'If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.'

There was a face hovering above him, pale as the moon and just as beautiful. Lips red as blood and a smile that could crush hearts. Hair as black as the night framed her angelic face, falling down to her waist like a waterfall. There was nothing imperfect about her visage, nothing to prove she's human and he had no illusions as to what she might be.

He didn't know when he stopped breathing. Then she shifted her gaze and he sucked in air like it's his dying breath. She fell onto the bed beside him and laid on her side, placing a hand on his chest. Every second felt like an hour, as though he was trapped in a twisted world of a different make. Her each action seemed slow and methodical, a reason behind her every move.

And tonight, she was there for him.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked with a courage he didn't feel. Death seemed more amused than angry so he was hoping that she was not out for his life. But one could never predict death. It appears without a warning and disappears, taking with it the thing you valued the most.

"I am here for my property," her melodious tone betrayed no emotion. Her fingers were drawing circles on his chest and only a minute later did he realize that they were not circles; she was drawing the symbol of the deathly hallows. "You have crossed a river that should not be crossed."

And with that statement, everything fell into place. He had traveled through the veil across dimensions and came out unscathed. Death wouldn't take kindly to trespassers who cheat her. The three Peverell brothers were the best example of this. They have crossed a river that should have killed them by all rights but they had survived. They had cheated death. But in the end, death always got what it wanted.

It lured them with the bait of power and two brothers succumbed to her charms. The third brother lived until the end of his days but death reaped his soul all the same. But Harry was the Master of Death. The title must come with at least some privilege, he hoped in his mind.

As though death was aware of his thoughts, she gave an amused chuckle. It sounded like a harp played at a funeral. Haunting yet beautiful. "Yes, Harry Potter was the Master of Death."

Harry could sense a but, and death didn't disappoint.

"But you're not Harry Potter. You have forsaken your identity when you have entered the veil. _I_ saved your soul from destruction and _I_ gave you a body. Do you not feel it, Harry? Do you not taste the vigor of a body wrought from perfection?" she lifted her hand and placed it on his forehead, where his trademarked lightning bolt shaped scar used to be. Now, unblemished smooth skin greeted her fingers as she trailed her fingers across his forehead. All the scars of his old body had vanished the moment his body was reformed. He knew it and had decided to ponder upon that mystery tomorrow. But it seemed like death was happy to give him the answers he needed. "This is my gift to you."

Gifts from Death didn't come without a price. He was aware of that. But he couldn't help himself from asking, "Then I am not a Potter?"

"You are as much Potter as you are a Riddle or a Flamel," she answered without hesitation. "You can keep the name if you're so attached to it."

She moved her hand from his forehead to his chest, dragging it slowly and agonizingly as she did so, and placed her palm right on his heart.

"But your soul," his heart thudded violently as she spoke and he was sure she could feel the vibrations in her palm. She roved her hands across his body like one would do to a lover. "And your body belongs to _me."_

Harry shuddered as she lifted herself from the bed and placed her legs on either side of his waist. She bent until her face was hovering above his again and her black hair fell like a curtain around his head. She stared him in his emerald eyes, freezing him in his place, and brought her lips to his cheek, kissing him tenderly. Then she collapsed onto his body, weighing as light as a feather as she rested her head on his chest. She hummed a lullaby as she raked her fingers through his messy hair, as though beckoning him to sleep. Every act of hers seemed like something a mother would do to a child but he had no illusions as to what he meant to her. A possession.

"You are mine, Harry, and don't you forget it."

Harry didn't sleep that night.

* * *

There was a certain comfort that only home could provide. The opulence of Flamel mansion didn't deter it from retaining the homely feel that most compact houses had, or that might just be because of Perenelle, who was wearing a frilly apron as she baked eggs in the kitchen.

The debacle of the previous night was forgotten for a moment as Perenelle turned to him as he entered the kitchen and greeted him with a motherly smile. But then her smile vanished as she took in his state and a worried frown crossed her face. "You're looking awfully pale, Harry."

That brought back memories of the night and he concealed a shiver that traveled down his spine. The image of death casually laying on top of him as she hummed some obscure tune was one of the most frightening moments of his life, and he was sure that it would haunt him for months.

"I didn't sleep well last night," Harry replied as he stood beside her and placed his head on the kitchen counter. The cool marble soothed his headache a bit and he released a sigh.

"You'll just have to get used to this world," Perenelle stroked his hair and Harry nearly jerked away from her touch; It reminded him too much of the cold, dainty fingers of death as she raked her fingers on his scalp.

He knew it had nothing to do with this world but he wasn't going to deny her assumptions. His situation was freaky enough without the occasional nightly visits from death and it wasn't like anybody could stop death from doing what she wanted. So, he simply gave a tired nod and went back to napping on the counter.

The comfortable silence was broken when Nicholas appeared and took a seat at the dining table. From the grumpy expression on his face, Harry could infer that even the Nicholas of this world was not a morning person. Disturbing the man during this time would only result in scathing remarks and a terrible morning. Harry had no shortage of both.

Harry praised Perenelle's cooking as he bit into his french toast, which earned him another serving from the happy woman. Her behavior reminded him of how the Perenelle of his world acted when he first moved into the Flamel mansion; The woman loved kids and the extra presence at the mansion made her whole world brighter. Immortality was not synonymous with happiness, after all.

It was Nicholas who first broached the subject, the man being apathetic to anything sentimental or emotional. "We're thinking that it'd be better if you stayed at an orphanage."

Harry choked on his orange juice and spluttered incoherently for a moment. Then he regained his bearings and stared inquisitively at the Flamels. Moments like these made him thankful that he was not an actual ten-year-old, for he was sure any other kid would already be in tears. "Why?"

Perenelle smacked Nicholas on the head and gave the man a glare that made Harry believe that the couch was going to be occupied tonight. "It's only for a week or less, Harry. You'll be getting your Hogwarts letter shortly and I'm sure they'll be sending a professor. It's better if no one knows you live with us."

That made sense, Harry thought to himself. The fame of being Flamel's adopted kid was something he was better off without. But there was one tiny part that didn't seem logical. "Why will they be sending a professor? I thought it was only for muggle-born students."

"Well," Perenelle began hesitantly and Harry knew this was not a conversation he would enjoy. "Your name carries some weight in the wizarding world, as the war ended with the massacre of the Potters. Gellert Grindelwald didn't want anything to do with the war til then for some reason and only when the Potters were killed did he appear on the battlefield and defeat Dumbledore. People assumed Dumbledore attacked the Potters that night for a weapon and no one knows if he found it or not. The fact that Grindelwald only got involved after the massacre further increased the suspicion."

"Do you know what he was searching for?" Harry furrowed his brows in thought. He was sure he was missing a vital point that would solve the puzzle but the answer kept slipping from his grasp.

"We are not certain but we believe it is a family heirloom he was after," Perenelle answered and Harry froze in his place.

Family heirloom? There was only one thing the Potters possessed that Dumbledore might be interested in. The cloak of invisibility. The last Deathly Hallow. Did Dumbledore get hold of the first two hallows and was that why Grindelwald finally took action? To prevent Dumbledore from becoming the master of death?

"S-so did he find it?" Harry had to struggle to keep the anxiety out of his tone. It wouldn't do to reveal that he suspected something. The deathly hallows and the master of death title was his best-kept secret.

"I think not," this time it was Nicholas who responded. The alchemist was watching him like a hawk, as though the man was aware that Harry knew something; Harry schooled his expression and stared back without hesitation. "Even after Dumbledore was defeated, his followers conducted raids all over the country, especially at the Potter family estates."

There was one thing that kept bugging Harry all throughout the tale. "Defeated? Not killed?"

"Some think he died on the battlefield that day and some think he escaped to a faraway place, licking his wounds and waiting for the right opportunity."

This would make an excellent horror story to tell children at night, Harry mused. Then it clicked in his mind why people might be freaking out due to his existence. "You think my presence may bring Dumbledore out of hiding?"

"We are not sure but you can't say the same about the wizarding world," Perenelle's look hinted that he must already know what the wizarding world would think. They would make a martyr out of him the moment Dumbledore appeared, of that he was sure from his very own experience. It seemed that having a dark lord out for his life was a common theme anywhere he went. "So don't be surprised if people act skittish around you."

"It won't be the first time," Harry sighed as he slumped in his chair. "If only the Dumbledore of our world had been so proactive, the war with Voldemort would've ended before it even began. I hope Grindelwald is not another old fool who believes in second chances and power of love."

"You don't have to be afraid about that," Nicholas had a smirk playing on his lips. "Gellert's fury is only secondary to his power. That man is not one to let bygones be bygones."

"Thank god for little mercies, eh?" Harry smiled for the first time that day and the conversation degenerated to lighter topics. But throughout the day Harry couldn't help but feel that he was forgetting something important. Well, he had plenty of time in his hands for once to deal with whatever may come.

* * *

"I don't understand why I can't just stay here for my birthday and then come back to the mansion after the Diagon Alley trip with the professor," Harry whined because as a ten-year-old he had every right to. It would also help by making people believe that he really was just a kid. "One week is too long!"

Perenelle patted him on the head with an overbearing smile and Harry leaned into her touch like a clingy cat. How could Harry ever win an argument if she smiled at him like that? Meanwhile, Nicholas looked like he was reconsidering his decision of adopting Harry into their little family; As if anyone cared about his opinion.

"We confounded the matron and kids into thinking that you've been living here for the last ten years," Nicholas snapped at last as Harry started to whine again. "But that doesn't mean you know anything about the people here. How will you fool the professor who comes into believing that you really do live at the orphanage? Use this week to get to know the other kids."

Harry hated when Nicholas made such logical arguments, as that meant he had to bear the brunt of Nicholas's smugness when he accepted the man was right. Harry glanced at the dingy building there were standing in front of and lamented his situation once again. He would probably die of boredom by the time his birthday arrived.

"You're leaving me at an orphanage a day after I was adopted," Harry grumbled in jest. "You are the worst parents ever."

Harry only meant it as a joke but Perenelle already started crying as she smothered him in a hug. Harry flailed his arms helplessly as she buried his head in her bosom and squeezed him tightly. "We'll be back as soon as we can, 'kay?"

Harry could only tap her on the shoulder in a comforting way, though the gesture looked more like he was surrendering in a wrestling match. He took in a huge gulp of air as she released him from her hold and gave tremulous smile in return. "I'll be waiting, Penny."

His first day at the orphanage was a calm one, filled with neither the tiredness of a busy day or the adrenaline rush of an exciting one. He was offered the last room in the third-floor corridor, the only single room in the whole orphanage; He was sure Penny had some part in this. The room next to his was occupied by two twelve years old and a seven-year-old. The oldest of the trio was Kevin, nicknamed 'spud' and the youngest was a shy, mousy little kid named Melvin. This trio was led by the last member Micheal, who got it into himself that Harry was a vulnerable, accident-prone boy who needed constant attention; Harry would bet his fortune that this was Nicholas's handiwork.

Kevin was the talkative, go-to guy of the orphanage and through him, Harry learned the workings and idiosyncrasies of the orphanage and its occupants. The matron Elsa was a kind fifty-year-old whose husband died in the world war two, leaving her with a cottage and no children of her own. So she turned the cottage into an orphanage and took in children from different areas of London. She was someone Harry would've admired had he been an actual member of the orphanage. The only thing that irked Harry about her was that she believed firmly that food was the solution to all problems and took every chance to stuff Harry, who to his misfortune, looked like a kid with the weight of the world on his shoulders; Which was sadly true.

Harry spent days leading to his birthday either by strolling around the orphanage observing people or with the ragtag trio of Micheal, Kevin, and Melvin. His bond with the group only deepened when he saved Melvin from being bullied by a ragtag group of fourteen-year-old ruffians with liberal use of wandless magic, which turned the seven-year-old overnight into a fanboy of Harry Potter. Melvin was the clingy sort but his experience with his godson Teddy made the whole thing not only bearable but nostalgic. The group of four played with muggle cards – acquired by Kevin from god knows where – or aggravated Elsa with their pranks before serving punishment at night by sweeping the dorms.

It was a day before his birthday that the monotony of his life was broken by the last person Harry would've wanted as a guide to the Wizarding World. It was then that he realized what he kept forgetting since he heard about the massacre of the Potters. If Albus Dumbledore was the Dark Lord and Gellert Grindelwald was the headmaster, then what happened to Tom Riddle?

The answer came walking through his door, wearing a pitch-black robe and holding a Hogwarts letter.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Couldn't finish the chapter before the deadline but since I promised, here's the second chapter.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. A Chaotic Start

**Disclaimer: The light at the end of the tunnel shouldn't be the only glow that guides you down the path. Ends justify the means but is the road you walk down the only one you have? On a side note, I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

Tom Riddle was never a man who followed orders. But there was an unwritten rule in Hogwarts that when the Headmaster called, you answer.

So, putting down the rather interesting paper on dark arts written by one of the budding researchers from Durmstrang Institute, he rose up from his chair with a sigh. While Hogwarts was considered the best magical institution in Europe, research in the field of dark arts was always frowned upon despite the Headmaster's best efforts to increase awareness in the magical community. The scars from the wizarding war led by Dumbledore hadn't healed and the people of Britain were still wary of even the most basic of dark arts.

The bones in his back creaked as he stretched his body after hours of sitting stationary in a dreary corner of his office. The Headmaster usually left him alone for the summer but this year seemed to be a special case. He knew not what was running through the mind of the warlock but the headmaster was not a man who disturbed people for frivolous tasks.

His footsteps echoed through the hollow corridors of the castle and the only noises were from the portraits, who waved at him excitedly as he passed by. He returned their greetings in kind, knowing how much one could exploit the simple things like portraits that people casually ignore. The gargoyle opened the moment he stepped in front of it, showing the loopy stairway that led to the headmaster's office. The gargoyle used to be password protected until the headmaster decided that his office should always be open to students in need and decided to do away with it.

The office he entered was spartan, with a single mahogany desk and a high-back chair lying in the middle, surrounded by rows upon rows of bookshelves that were attached to the walls. The wall adjacent to the desk boasted a huge window that provided a spectacular view of the Hogwarts grounds, a sight that never failed to captivate him. Sitting in the chair and looking out of the window at the orange-red tinted evening sky was Gellert Grindelwald, arguably the most famous headmaster of Hogwarts.

The passage of time was kind to the old war veteran, who looked like he was still in his fifties despite his impressive age of eighty-seven. He had aristocratic features, with sharp cheekbones and an angular face and towered over most of the populace with a height of six feet and six inches. His once bright blond hair was now a stark white and hung to his sides like twin curtains, while his face remained clean-shaven, displaying thin lips that showed how little he smiled.

But in Riddle's opinion, the Headmaster's most notable feature was his hawkish blue eyes that seemed to penetrate into you the longer you stared at them. There was a rumor circulating in the halls of Hogwarts that the Headmaster didn't need legilimency to know everything about you. From his past experiences with the man, Tom could vouch that there was some truth to that rumor.

"It's only when you take time to pause and look around you do you realize how much things have changed," Grindelwald said as he turned to face the DADA professor.

"And what brought this up?" Tom slid down gracefully into the chair ahead of the desk and directed an inquisitive glance at the headmaster.

Grindelwald held up a letter in reply and levitated it over to Tom without a single twitch of his fingers. Even after all these years, the headmaster knew how to make him feel like a student all over again. Snapping out his musings, he plucked the letter out of thin air and gazed at it with curiosity. It didn't take him long to figure out what caught the interest of the busiest man in Britain.

"Harry Potter?" Tom whispered softly, a hint of confusion and sympathy laced into his tone. He knew how close the Headmaster was to the Potters and the devastating loss that made the man step onto the battlefield to end the war once and for all. "I thought Dumbledore left no survivors."

"For all his brilliance and resources, even Albus couldn't be that thorough," Grindelwald answered as he steepled his fingers. "This one must have slipped through the cracks."

"The address listed here is an orphanage," Tom remarked with an understanding nod. "The parents must've put up a fight to save their child. Any idea who they could be?"

"We can only speculate at the moment," Grindelwald said with a dismissive flick of his hand that signaled the end of the conversation. "I want to you to go to the orphanage and give the boy his letter."

"Me?" Though he loved teaching, Tom was never known to be the best with kids. They all seemed like morons to him and made him wonder if he was that stupid when he was their age. The relationship between him and his students was as professional as it could get. It was fortunate that he was the head of the Slytherin house as the members of the house were known to be self-sufficient. "Professor McGonagall is more suited for this than I am. I might scar the poor kid for all I know about how to act with children."

"I thought your history would help him relate to you better than with Professor McGonagall," Grindelwald countered easily. Not that Tom was trying to convince the man. It was well known that once the Headmaster decided upon something, even the end of the world couldn't stop him. It was more of an effort to convince himself that there were no other options and he had no choice but to do it. "And Minerva is already busy with muggle-born students. I don't want to burden her with more work."

Tom released a long-suffering sigh, hoping that the Headmaster understood how reluctant he was to carry out the task. "Alright. I'll try to fit it into my schedule."

"All you do is sit in a dark corner and read books the whole day. I am sure you'll manage," Grindelwald commented unsympathetically, with a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. "While you're at it, pick up this other student on the way."

"I knew I should have put up a fight," Tom cursed under his breath as the headmaster tossed him another letter. He gave the headmaster an evil eye as he read the name on the envelope. "Lily Evans? Seems like a muggle-born. What's so special about her?"

"Adopted," Grindelwald replied as a smirk formed on his face, giving his visage a terrifying look. "She comes from a long line of squibs that can be traced back to Salazar Slytherin."

Tom almost dropped the letter at that piece of info. Who would've expected that he'd meet a distant cousin of his someday? It seemed that two nearly extinct lines were popping back into the wizarding world. "This year's crop looks interesting."

Grindelwald merely hummed, looking deep in thought as he went back to staring out of the window. "That it is. But we need to be wary. Whenever things look interesting, chaos surely follows."

Tom fell silent at that, aware of what the Headmaster must be thinking. The presence of a Potter and a Slytherin would attract all kinds of vultures and spear-heading the predators would be a man whose very name instilled fear into the hearts of people all over the world.

Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

Tom started at the orphanage as he stood at the gate, reminiscing of the horrible childhood he experienced and the man that entered his room one day with the same letter he was holding now to change his life forever. Sometimes when he was bored beyond measure and was in a contemplative mood, he wondered what he would've become if the headmaster hadn't rescued him from that hellhole. Probably a horrible dark lord who couldn't stop monologuing to save his life.

The gate creaked as he entered the orphanage grounds and he had to dodge a dozen ebullient kids before he could reach the door. Why on earth did he ever think this was a good idea? He knocked thrice on the door and waited patiently until a stately woman in her fifties opened it to peer at him over her glasses. To his silent relief, the matron didn't look half as evil as his matron was. He prayed that he wouldn't be meeting a younger version of himself; abused with magic being the only refuge.

"Stephen's Orphanage?" Tom asked, ignoring the way the woman looked at his black robes with a hint of incredulity. "I'm Tom Riddle and I'm here for a ward of yours..."

The woman took a moment to reply, probably still confused by the sudden appearance of a strange man at her doorstep. At least, his good looks worked in his favor in these situations to avoid undue suspicion. "Y-yes. But you have to file a form first before you can adopt any child."

"No, no," Tom chuckled, the very thought of him adopting a kid sounded too funny. "I'm here for Harry Potter. He is accepted into our prestigious school and I'm here to inform him about the good news."

"I didn't know Harry applied for any schools," the matron frowned in confusion. Then she stepped aside with an embarrassed laugh to let him inside. "Oh, how rude of me, keeping you waiting at the door. Pardon my forgetfulness, Mr. Riddle, the years are not kind to me. Please come in. I'm Elsa Fry and the matron of the orphanage"

"Thank you, Mrs. Fry," Tom slid the letter back into his pocket and shook the offered hand of the matron. "And it was Harry's birth parents who enrolled him in the school before passing away."

"My goodness, he would be delighted to hear that," the matron gave a genuine smile, dampening his doubts about her to mere skepticism. "I am not surprised he is accepted. Harry has always been a smart child, a bit of a prankster but his heart is in the right place."

"That's wonderful to hear," it really was. He didn't need to be a legilimens to know that his own matron spoke none too kindly about him to the headmaster. At least the more he heard, the more he was certain that he was just meeting another ordinary albeit an orphaned wizard. Tom looked around in hopes of finding the last Potter scion, as wizards always do stand out in muggles from their childhood itself.

"I'll go fetch him for you, Mr. Riddle," the matron must've noticed his wandering gaze as she immediately set out to find the boy. But the way she took one step after the other made him realize that he could get on with it faster if he could find the boy himself

"Ah, please, I can find my way, Mrs. Fry."

"Bless you, I am not as young as I used to be," she chuckled self-deprecatingly as she pointed at the stairs. "You can find him in the last room to the left on the third floor."

"Thank you," Tom inclined his head before climbing up the stairs, the cheerful smile on his face slowly disappearing as his Slytherin persona came to the forefront. It was such a bother to act like an overbearing teacher when all he wanted to do was apparate directly into the room of the boy, hand him the letter and disappear without a trace; The things he did for the school.

* * *

There were days when it felt like the whole universe was conspiring against him to make his life as chaotic as possible. Those were becoming rather frequent for his vexation.

Harry was sitting at the edge of his bed, adjacent to the window, pondering how he could annoy Nicholas once he went back home. Though he was given a single room, it wasn't spacious enough to fit anything other than a bed and a cupboard, so most of his alone time was spent lazing on the bed, having inane thoughts. But for the first time in a week, his early morning routine was disturbed by footsteps outside the door.

When he heard that Hogwarts would be sending a professor, he expected a younger but just as stern Minerva McGonagall to walk through the door, with her radiant green robes and pointy hat. A demonstration of turning into a cat from the professor and he'd be on his merry way to Diagon Alley before going back to Flamel Mansion. It'd be even better if he could charm her on the way so that he'd have her on his side when things inevitably went beyond repair.

So no one could blame him when he panicked and fired a stunner when Tom Riddle entered his room without even a knock on the door. Of course, the fact that the door was wide open was not his fault. The other kids of the orphanage kept barging into his room so many times that he decided it's better if he left it open.

Tom made a wandless shield to deflect the stunner, the only sign that he was surprised was the slight quirk of his eyebrow. "I come in peace, Mr. Potter."

Harry blinked once and then twice to make sure what he was seeing was real. Was that a smile on the bastard's face? Now that he noticed it, the man only had a passing resemblance to the Voldemort he knew and hated but since he had seen the younger Tom Riddle through the diary, he was sure that the green-eyed, bluish black-haired, smug-faced bastard standing in front of him was indeed Tom. In hindsight, he didn't do a great job by panicking but attacking Tom Riddle on sight was an instinctive reaction to him by now.

The man looked to be in his twenties despite being forty-four years old – another proof for the theory that the more powerful a wizard was, the slower they aged – and had a charismatic air around him. If not for his past experience with this man in his dimension, Harry would've been amazed by the sheer presence Tom emitted. For someone who hadn't even lived for half a century, Tom seemed powerful enough to rival the best of them – Not that he expected any less.

But what's actually surprising was the calmness with which Tom reacted to his abrupt attack. He'd have been writhing in pain from the Cruciatus curse the moment he attacked if this Tom had been the one from his world. All these deductions flitted through his mind in seconds and the next moment, Harry had an apologizing smile on his face, which was as fake as the one Tom was wearing. "Sorry, sir. You looked like one of those shady people Mrs. Fry warned us about."

If Tom was annoyed by his comment, he didn't show it. He casually walked into the room, looking for all appearances like a man who just walked out of his shower, and conjured a chair in front of the bed before sitting on it. "I'm more impressed than angry, Mr. Potter. Even some of the fifth year students in our school struggle with the stunner and you have just performed it silently and wandlessly."

"Stunner? You mean the red beam, sir?" Harry tilted his head in confusion, acting for all intents like a clueless child.

Tom didn't give any indication as to whether he bought the act or not. "Hmm, yes. May I ask how you did it?"

In a way, it was fortunate that it was Tom who arrived to give him his letter. If it had been any other professor, he'd have been facing a thorough investigation about his magical prowess. Tom Riddle, on the other hand, was a prodigy among prodigies and a stunner from an eleven-year-old might only seem mildly interesting to him rather than groundbreaking as it should be. But he wouldn't have cast the stunner in the first place if it hadn't been for Tom but that was neither here nor there.

"I saw it in one of those movies and copied it," Harry lied effortlessly. "None of my friends can do it for some reason."

Tom gave him an inscrutable glance and Harry could see the gears whirring in the mind of the professor. He hoped that this Tom was as averse to muggle culture as the Tom of his world was and would merely chalk it up as a fluke that worked due to sheer luck.

"That's because you're a wizard, Mr. Potter!" Tom declared grandly, his eyes still scanning Harry for any signs that might give away the truth.

Harry wisely averted his eyes, thinking of anything that could throw the man off his trail. Then a brilliant idea struck him. "Okay."

"Okay?" Tom repeated incredulously, his suspicions set aside for the moment in the face of this blasphemy. The only reason he was a bit enthusiastic about the trip was to see the reactions of the kids when he told them about magic; For all the times Professor McGonagall crowed about how wonderful it was to see the faces of the muggle-born students when they learn about magic, he expected a little entertainment out of it. "That's all you have to say about it?"

"What other explanation is there?" Harry shrugged with an air of nonchalance. "It's not like I am a Jedi or anything."

"What?"

"Movie reference."

"Oh," Tom nodded, though it was obvious that he was rather disappointed at the lack of reaction from Harry. On the other hand, Harry couldn't help but draw some sick pleasure from this. For all the times Tom Riddle of his world ruined his life, he was only returning the favor. It didn't hurt that their initial topic of conversation was completely derailed off track. If there was one thing he learned from Nicholas, it was how to thoroughly annoy the heck out of people.

"So, you are a wizard too, Mister?"

"Ah, where are my manners? I am Tom Riddle, Professor of Defense against Dark Arts at Hogwarts," Tom answered as he held out of his hand, which Harry shook with great reluctance. If Tom noticed his hesitance, he didn't comment on it. "And of course I am a wizard too, Mr. Potter."

As a proof, Tom set the cupboard on fire wandlessly and looked at Harry as though daring him to not be impressed. Harry couldn't stop the amazement from showing on his face at the effortless use of wandless magic – He could do some basic spells without a wand but his skills were still far below people like Nicholas, Dumbledore and as it seems, Tom Riddle – but he'd be damned if he let the bastard have the satisfaction.

"I really hope you know how to repair it, sir," Harry was the very image of a scared, downtrodden child. "I have all my belongings in that cupboard."

Tom coughed into his hand to mask his embarrassed flush and reverted the cupboard back to its original state with another flick of his hand. "You needn't have worried, Mr. Potter. Those flames do not burn anything."

Harry quirked an eyebrow to show how unimpressed he was with that reasoning. "Really? The first thing you show an impressionable eleven-year-old is how to burn things?"

If anything, the flush on Tom's face deepened further. "Like I was saying, the flames do not burn anything."

They shared an awkward silence during the time which Tom was cursing about things like 'How it wasn't going like he expected', 'Knew shouldn't have accepted it,' 'Never going to have kids...'

"So, Professor..." Harry began hesitantly once the silence stretched long enough. "You didn't tell me why you are here."

Tom sighed, the meager enthusiasm he possessed when he first arrived had long since evaporated and took out the envelope from his pocket. "You are accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mr. Potter – A place where you can learn magic for the next seven years. All the things you need for the upcoming school year, should you decide to attend, are listed in the letter there. I assume you are interested?"

"Yes," Harry replied as he read the parchment. Everything was the same except for the name of the Headmaster and it appears that Grindelwald had just as many titles as the Dumbledore of his world had. "But where can I get all these things, Professor? I don't even have any money to spend."

Tom rose up from his chair and vanished it with a swish of his wand. "I'll explain it all to you on the way, Mr. Potter. Do you mind if we pick up another student on the way?"

That was unexpected. "Um, no?"

"Excellent," Tom clapped cheerfully, looking as though he was finally free from all the burdens weighing him down in his life. He offered a hand as looked down at Harry with that cheerful smile still plastered on his face – Harry was beginning to suspect something sinister hidden behind the smile. "Let's go, shall we?"

Harry looked at the offered hand as though it was an alien object. "You don't expect me to hold your hand while walking, do you?"

"Don't be silly, Mr. Potter," Tom rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fall out of their sockets. "We are not going there by walk."

The suspicion returned full force and Harry took a step back – He could see where this was going. "Then how?"

Tom's reply was to place his hand on Harry's shoulder and a moment later, the room was empty.

* * *

Harry swayed on his feet as he landed on the hard, unforgiving ground and his face held a greenish tint that bespoke of nothing good. Tom lent a helping hand to steady him but the small act of kindness didn't make all wrongs right. "What the hell was that, _Professor?"_

Even a deaf man could hear the annoyance in Harry's tone. His hate for magical transportation was only second to his hate for Voldemort. Tom, meanwhile acted innocent but Harry could swear on his life that this was an act of revenge against him for his cheek that morning.

"That's apparition, Mr. Potter," Tom explained, his tone betraying no emotion but his eyes glinted with dark glee. "It's a form of magical transportation."

He thought the Tom Riddle of this world was decent compared to his. He was wrong. This bastard was just as sadistic as the other one.

"It's a way to kill people, that's what it is," Harry mumbled under his breath as they walked down the cobblestone road to the house of the other student. He still had no idea who they were going to meet but Harry felt that he should recognize the neighborhood. The whole vicinity reeked of familiarity.

They reached a modest two-floored cottage surrounded by dozens of flower beds on all four sides – whoever it was must love flowers. Tom, in a surprising show of manners, knocked the door and Harry heard a shout of 'Coming!' from the inside. Then the door opened to show the prettiest girl Harry had seen in his life – both the lives.

Fiery red hair cascaded down her shoulders to reach her mid back, with bangs framing either side of her round face. The slight paleness of her skin contrasted with her dark red hair and a wave of freckles dotted her button nose. Her thin, pink lips were stretched into a beautiful smile, with twin dimples etched onto her cheeks.

But her most striking feature was her vibrant green eyes that shone with an intelligence beyond her age and glowed with a luminescence that could put the full moon to shame.

She was simply breathtaking….

"Lily Evans?" Tom asked and comprehension dawned on Harry like a thunderstorm.

It seemed that he was destined to meet all the prominent people of his old life in the most unexpected ways possible. If that wasn't fate screwing with him, then he didn't know what was.

Stuck between fate and death, Harry realized at that moment that this life wasn't going to be any less chaotic than his old one.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Ending on that happy note, should I just say that I am hopeless at following my update schedule? Technically, this should be posted tomorrow but for being a month late, I am posting it a day earlier. I know. My kindness knows no bounds.**

 **The most important question to which everybody needs an answer...is it het or slash? All I have to say is that I have nothing against slash but it'll be all over the place and awkward if I write it. So, no Slash in any of my stories in the near future.**

 **While we're on that topic, there's obviously going to be romance in this story but Harry wouldn't start kissing every eleven year old he can find. There will be hints of romance in initial chapters and it picks up as the story progresses and characters get older.**

 **Now, I won't be revealing any pairings as that ruins all the suspense and gives away the plot. But you'll know as you read the story. It's no plot twist.**

 **See ya!**


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